


consumed by fury

by amorremanet, SheithFixitZine



Series: Written in the Stars - a Sheith Fixit Zine [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Attempted Murder, Bad Puns, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Rewrite: s08e05 The Grudge, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mentor Iverson (Voltron), POV Shiro (Voltron), Rescue Missions, Revenge, Zine: Written In The Stars - A Sheith Fix It Zine, local disaster lesbian drives 200 mistakes per hour in the wrong lane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheithFixitZine/pseuds/SheithFixitZine
Summary: Shiro wants to relax, but he’s dwelling on their last conversation. Keith’s stilted speech, that impersonal sign-off, like they were strangers—what if something happened? What if Keith’s in trouble?
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Written in the Stars - a Sheith Fixit Zine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939831
Comments: 2
Kudos: 80





	consumed by fury

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to _Written In The Stars: a Sheith Fix-It Zine_ ( **[twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithfixitzine)** ), which brought together writers and artists to rewrite season eight so Sheith could have the story they deserved. I had the privilege of rewriting 8.05 “The Grudge,” and I’m so excited to finally share it.
> 
> Please go check out [the other works](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939831) from this zine! All the fics make up a continuous story, meant to be read together. Mine is only one part of the whole.
> 
> The title is adapted from the opening quote out of Shimizu Takashi’s _The Grudge_ (the English-language remake of _Ju-On: The Grudge_ ):
>
>> _“When someone dies in the grip of a powerful rage, a curse is born. The curse gathers in that place of death. Those who encounter it will be_ _**consumed by its fury**. Those who survive will carry the curse with them...until it is reborn.”_

Unfortunately, a signal from Team Voltron bears bad news. According to Keith and Allura, Olkarion’s gone, its remains currently feeding a weblum. Shiro digs his organic palm against the console.

“How’s everyone doing? Keith?”

“We’re fine. Pidge got us a fix on something useful.”

Shiro’s prosthetic hums nervously. “Wait, did you _encounter_ any robeasts?”

“If we had, I would’ve called _you_ for backup.” Even now, with everyone listening, Keith indulges Shiro with a sweet sigh. “Honerva’s robeasts have been traveling by wormhole. Pidge created a program to pinpoint their locations based on their energy signatures.”

In a tick, Coran has Pidge’s readings displayed on a holo-map. Around the bridge, everyone watches those glowing red dots—except Iverson. He shoots Shiro a pointed expression that Shiro doesn’t want to acknowledge, much less interpret. Instead, he focuses on the brightest, angriest spot, right at the center of the attack sites.

Gravely, Allura explains, “The energy signatures originate from Oriande. But there remains much we don’t know.”

“Shiro,” Keith intones, “we need to regroup, make a plan.”

“We could rendezvous in the Beltov Nebula,” Acxa offers.

“Getting there will take time,” Allura says.

“Watch each other’s backs and let us know if anything comes up.” A faint smile curls Shiro’s lips as he adds, “Take care of yourself, Keith.”

“Try following your own advice, _sir_ ,” he teases, and heat spills down Shiro’s neck. His strawberry pink blush must light up the bridge. “See you soon, Shiro. Keith, out.”

While Coran adjusts their course, Shiro gives the bridge to Iverson. He hasn’t even made it to the door when Iverson hands command to Coran.

As they walk, an unspoken question hangs in the air, gnawing Shiro’s nerves. If he felt petty, Shiro would point out that awkwardness doesn’t make for a good meal-break. Rather than be rude, though, he boards an elevator in silence.

“Permission to speak freely?” Given Shiro’s by-your-leave, Iverson drawls, “Son, do you and Kogane really think you’re _subtle_?”

“Since you’re the only person who’s said anything? Yes, sir, I do.”

“You don’t need to call me, ‘sir’ anymore, Shiro.” In case his protégé doubts his intended point, Iverson taps each of the four gold stripes on Shiro’s left shoulder. “See, you could officially tell me off for doing that. Because you outrank me. That’s how this _works._ ”

Since they have the lift to themselves, Shiro pouts. “I’ll get used to it _later_ —but not until Keith gets back. The team, too.”

Frowning sympathetically, Iverson nods. “Whatever you say, _Admiral_ Shirogane.”

* * *

A couple hours into their trek, Veronica detects signals on a wavelength she doesn’t recognize.

Shiro frowns when Keith’s voice comes through. “Atlas, we had some technical difficulties. We’ll be delayed.”

“Copy,” Shiro’s reflexes reply. “Any estimates on your ETA?”

“Hard to tell, might be a few hours.”

A chill seeps down Shiro’s spine. He braces himself on his console. Something feels _off_ about how Keith’s talking.

Shiro can’t falter with so many people watching, though. Iverson’s turned around in his seat, grimacing in concern. Coran’s mustache trembles; he’s dying to ask a question Shiro won’t enjoy. Veronica stares in disbelief and Acxa stands by her, brows arched quizzically.

“What sort of difficulties?” Shiro asks before anyone can interject.

Keith’s voice drones, “We’re still assessing that. We’ll keep you updated. Black Lion, out.”

Before Shiro can protest, the line goes dead. Within seconds, graveyard silence invades the bridge like an elephant making himself at home because politeness dictates that no one should call him out, no matter how badly he wrecks up the place or what kinds of _presents_ he leaves on the carpet. No one even moves until familiar footfalls advance on Shiro. A heavy hand squeezes his shoulder.

“He’ll be fine, son,” Iverson promises. “They can handle themselves.”

“I know—but _something_ isn’t right.” Glaring at the holo-map, Shiro huffs. “Crew, stay on-guard. Be ready for anything.”

* * *

Drumming his prosthetic’s fingers on his elbow, Shiro frowns out the Atlas’s view-screen. Gleaming like celestial obsidian before him, the moon serving as their rendezvous point looks so peaceful, as if the war hasn’t touched this place before today. Who knows? That might be true.

“Come _on_...”

Shiro wishes he could relax, but anxiety clouds around him. Of course, there’s no reason for it. Nothing’s happened, for better or worse, since Keith’s last signal.

“ _Seriously_?”

Yet, Shiro can’t stop dwelling on their conversation. Keith’s stilted speech, that impersonal sign-off, like he and Shiro were strangers—

“ _Ay, chingada_ —”

“Veronica,” Shiro snaps. “What is it?”

“Good question, sir. I can’t—”

“We’ve found something strange.” Acxa scowls at Veronica’s console. “Much of it resembles natural deep space interference, like stellar radiation—but that shouldn’t look like this.”

“Whenever I get close to pinning it down,” Veronica adds, “everything changes on me.”

A quick nod from Shiro and Coran joins them. After some pensive humming, an earnest grin erupts on his face. “That looks like Olkari adaptive tech! Perhaps we’ve located where the fugitives have put down new roots. Pidge and Princess Allura will be delighted—”

“You mean, ‘disappointed.’” Acxa grimaces. “Zarkon and Haggar drained this entire galaxy of quintessence millennia ago. Nothing can survive on these planets beyond a few hours.”

Coran’s mustache droops. “Hmm, I suppose that _would_ make establishing a colony difficult.”

“Oh, I dunno.” Veronica smirks. “We have an old saying, back on Earth: _Life finds a way_ —”

“Acxa,” Shiro cuts in, “what’s wrong?”

Something awful, apparently. Her blue skin pales, nearly turning white. She stiffens like a corpse. When Shiro repeats the question, she points at a set of jagged lines on Veronica’s screen.

“I know these patterns,” Acxa whispers. “With Lotor, we used them to intercept and divert transmissions—” Setting her jaw, she sighs. “Only two other still-living souls know these protocols.”

“Veronica, open a line to Voltron.” Once she has, Shiro fights to steady his voice. “Keith, how are things going?”

“We’re finishing repairs. We’ll update when we’re underway.”

“Are you all right? Have the Lions—”

“Look for the decoy,” Acxa hisses to Veronica, whose fingers fly across the keys.

“What was that?” As if reading sample dialogue in _The Idiot’s Guide to Conversational English_ , Keith’s voice asks, “Atlas, are you experiencing trouble?”

“Nothing here,” Shiro says. “But you should’ve met us at the rendezvous point. When will—”

“Can’t talk now. We’ll be in touch.” Static crackles around Keith’s voice. “Black Lion, out.”

As soon as the line closes, dozens of messages spring up on the holo-screens. Cries of, _“Atlas, come in!”_ and, _“This is an emergency!”_ echo around the bridge. Every member of Team Voltron gets a chance, all screaming out for Shiro and the Atlas to help them.

Beside him, Acxa mutters what sounds like Galran profanity. Without knowing what it means, Shiro agrees wholeheartedly. “Get them back,” he hisses. “Force the connection through, if necessary. We need to track—”

“Belay that order,” Iverson barks. “Don’t make them suspicious—”

“Whoever that is, they could have Voltron, the team, _Keith_ —”

“Take a deep breath. Be smart about this, son. Patience yields—”

“Focus. Yes. _I know_.” Unfortunately for Shiro’s ego, taking a deep breath does help clear his mind. “Veronica, prepare a trace. Tell the MFEs they’re leading the charge. Acxa, ready a pod; you’re coming with me.”

* * *

Holding himself together sets fire to Shiro’s nerves. Every second drags its feet, each minute lasts for hours, and waiting makes him itch to punch a wall. Someone has his team, his friends, his _Keith._

Shiro’s head spins when Iverson agrees they’ve waited long enough. As Veronica sends the signal, Shiro’s heart thrashes around his throat; it only calms when she nods her go-ahead.

“Keith, sorry to interrupt, but you’re _really_ running late. Is everything okay?”

That crackling static makes Shiro feel sick. “Apologies for the delay. We experienced a glitch in navigation—”

“What kind of glitch?” At her console, Veronica furiously taps on her keys; Iverson motions for Shiro to keep talking. “You don’t need to rely on faulty navs. Send your coordinates. I’ll come find you.”

“Negative, Admiral. Won’t be necessary—”

“Our sensors show strange activity in this nebula. Flying with technical difficulties—”

“The readings are wrong,” Keith’s voice urges. “Conditions unideal, but manageable. Don’t send backup. I can fly us out of this.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Shiro sighs. “You could fly your way out of anything—” Veronica hisses victoriously, shoots him a thumbs-up. As she forwards coordinates to Coran, Shiro snaps, “—if you were _really_ Keith.”

“Wh-what,” the saboteur splutters, still using Keith’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Forward this to Ezor or Zethrid,” Shiro barks. “Tell whoever you work for: the Champion’s coming for her.”

With a decisive _thwack_ , Veronica closes the line. Storming out, Shiro only hesitates long enough to give Iverson the bridge.

* * *

“Zethrid, don’t do this!”

Beside Shiro, Acxa hesitates. Her armored suit trembles; she must be shaking like Shiro used to do a lifetime ago, during the worst flare-ups of his illness. Pain would wrack every inch of him. He’d tense and curl up, unable to control his own body, unable to do anything but wait and try not to whimper. For everyone’s sake, he hopes Acxa hasn’t frozen.

Looming over them, backlit by the lava’s glow, Zethrid growls. She bares her fangs, glares at Shiro, then Acxa, then Shiro again. Trapped but fighting anyway, as he always does, Keith wriggles against her chest. He thrashes, kicks the stone beneath them, knocks his fists against her bracer. Lost in grimacing at her former friend, raising her oversized blaster as though it’s a water-pistol, Zethrid seems oblivious to Keith’s struggle.

At least, until Shiro steps toward them. Sneering, Zethrid thumps her massive forearm on Keith’s clavicle. She grins at his sharp gasp and the way that Shiro fumbles to a halt.

“I’m fine, Starlight,” Keith lies through gritted teeth. He winces as she presses on his neck. “Zethrid and I were just catching up.”

With a sigh, Shiro holsters his own blaster. That gets Zethrid’s arm off Keith’s neck, at least. So, Shiro holds up his hands. Inhaling deeply, he looks to Keith, who nods in understanding: this isn’t surrender; Shiro wants to deescalate the situation as much as possible, and create an opportune moment if he can’t find one.

“Deactivate the prosthetic,” Zethrid snaps. When Shiro nods, her fluffy ears twitch like they’re snickering. As his right arm clatters to the ground, her mouth twists up in a cold smirk. “So much for all that shiny new tech, _Admiral_.”

Shiro huffs at the way she sneers his title. “All right, you’ve disarmed me. Let’s talk this out.”

“I knew you’d come for him—”

“That does tend to happen when my teammates get kidnapped—”

Zethrid laughs like a fist shattering glass. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that? I know what _love_ looks like, Admiral.” As if emphasizing her point, she caresses Keith’s cheek with her pistol. “I know how it feels to have someone so precious. To treasure her, _cherish_ her, love her more than I could _ever_ love myself. Then, after I promised to _always_ keep her safe, I _lost_ her! And _why_?”

Her blaster makes a clicking sound; it’s finished building a full charge. “Because of some meddling Paladins and their pet traitor.”

“That wasn’t what happened!” Acxa rushes to Shiro’s side. She doesn’t flinch, not even when Zethrid trains the pistol on her chest. “Voltron didn’t drive Ezor away from you. She couldn’t hold on to the anger—”

“Wait, _what_ ,” Keith splutters.

“Don’t act so surprised! You and your _Starlight_ stole _everything_ from me.” A powerful stomp shakes the ledge beneath them. Shiro’s inert prosthetic rattles with the tremors. “My home with Lotor—gone. My crew—dead. The ones I called family—dead, imprisoned, or turned against me. Then, finally, my beloved!”

Zethrid’s horrible, wounded roar nearly drowns the Ares Squadron’s engines. Overhead, they circle the scene, and no doubt, they’re looking for a shot that they won’t find. Even with their targeting systems’ precision, she’s clutching Keith too closely and he’s exactly tall enough to get in the way. He struggles, but when his pointy elbow bangs against the armor around her stomach, Zethrid pays it no mind. She must realize how well she’s shielded herself—why else would she let such a nightmarish grin crack across her face?

As she presses her pistol’s muzzle into Keith’s temple, Zethrid’s firecracker chuckle makes Shiro’s blood run cold. Glaring at her doesn’t make her stand down. Seething, Acxa narrows her eyes like that will help her pinpoint the weakest point in Zethrid’s armor.

Maybe she’s right—and better yet, Zethrid doesn’t notice.

“I’m here to settle our debt, Admiral.” Eyes locked on Shiro, she fingers her trigger. “Now, you can feel what I felt.”

“ _Wait_.” Shiro’s head spins as he edges toward her. He has to do something. He can’t hold off. Can’t just wait here, doing nothing. One-handed, he removes his helmet. The oxygen hisses out, and the rancid, brimstone stench around them fills Shiro’s nose—but he insists, “I understand how you’re feeling. But the situation isn’t hopeless—”

“What would _you_ know?” She spits at her feet. “You’ve never lost anyone like I have.”

“I _have_ , though. People I’ve loved have left me. _Abandoned_ me. Decided that I was too much for them and given up.” Biting back a shudder, he adds, “I’ve lashed out and pushed people away before they could get a _chance_ to hurt me.”

Shiro grinds his teeth as memories rush back to him: senior officers rejecting him for missions, Flight Command trying to keep him and his illness away from Kerberos, his mom’s family in Kyoto blanching and going silent when he came out, the way he stormed out and cut them off before they could explain. Even at the mouth of a volcano, Shiro shivers so much that his veins might as well pump liquid nitrogen—but these thoughts can’t deter him. He can’t let that happen. Not with Keith’s life on the line.

“Whyever you and Ezor fought,” he says, “you still have a chance to make things right—”

“I’m too far gone,” Zethrid howls. “She’ll never take me back—”

“At least she’s _alive_ to make that call.” Digging his nails into his palm, Shiro fights to keep his breathing even. He forces himself to meet her gaze. His eyes sting, which could come from the heat or the pain that wrenches through his chest. Perhaps, it comes from both sources. “Thanks to Sendak’s invasion, I can never get closure with some of the people I pushed away—but _you_ ** _can_**. Just let Keith go and stand down.”

For a moment, Zethrid considers that idea. She ducks her chin, and Shiro can see the gears turning in her mind.

Then, she shakes her head. “Choke on your pity,” she snarls, aiming at Shiro’s face, tightening her offhand arm around Keith’s neck. “All I need is my revenge.”

Her blaster _whirr_ s, ready to fire. Instead, another shot bursts out. It slams into Zethrid’s shoulder, narrowly missing Keith’s head. Wide-eyed, he gasps when she lets go of him, fights for breath as Zethrid’s pistol falls and Acxa lowers hers—but this isn’t over. Not yet.

Acxa’s shot sends Zethrid reeling. She stumbles, feet slipping out from under her. As she topples backward, everything slows down. She’s going over the edge. Shiro’s breath hitches, sticks in his throat. Shouldn’t he help? Why can’t he move? Have his legs forgotten how? No, but they carry him backward one step, then two. On his third, Zethrid plummets out of sight.

Grunting noises shake Shiro around. He blinks at the ground, at his prosthetic. A gentle kick reactivates his arm and it immediately tethers itself to him. By the time he looks up, Keith and Acxa have hauled Zethrid up again.

Once Zethrid’s on stable ground, Keith drops her arm. He staggers back. Pale, chest heaving as he wrestles each breath into himself, Keith winces. He lets his head and shoulders wilt. If not for his panting, he’d look like a marionette gone slack. He trembles, giving Acxa some space while she tends to Zethrid. Sweat glistens on his forehead, and each teetering step could bowl Keith over.

Rather than let him fall, Shiro darts to his side. He catches Keith, right as his knees threaten to give out.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Keith grunts, his only attempt at protest.

As he lets Shiro ease him down, his soft groans sound like exhaustion, or maybe pain, more than resistance. Any fussing ebbs out of him as he settles in Shiro’s lap. Without hesitation, Keith slumps into Shiro’s chest and slips into a starry-eyed smile.

“You’re so stupid,” he mutters, snickering without any vitriol. “ _Disarmed_ , Shiro? Seriously?”

“What?” Shiro grins as Keith bats at his cheek. “She made me turn off my arm.”

“Dumbass...” For all he seems to breathe more easily in this position, Keith lets his head loll onto Shiro’s shoulder like he doesn’t have the energy to keep sitting upright. Or maybe like he wants a better angle for bumping his forehead against Shiro’s neck. “What happened? Why’d you have us come here?”

“Long story, but I _promise_ that wasn’t me.” Cradling his beloved close, Shiro brushes Keith’s bangs off his forehead. “Stay with me, Baby. I’m gonna get you to the Atlas, okay? Then, the medics will look you over and fix you up.”

“No, I’m good.” He holds his breath as Shiro picks him up, bridal style. Limply, Keith drapes his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and gives Shiro another nuzzle. As if he can escape first aid by being cute, Keith says, “I don’t need medics; I’m home.”


End file.
